The Legend of Jack Trudeau, Avatar
by Lord Duro
Summary: Present day. The Four Nations are history. Bending has become a thing of myth. But with Sozen's Comet once again on the rise - and a lot more dangerous - the time has come for the old ways to make a comeback into the 21st Century. Along with a new Avatar
1. Prologue

We live in a scary world, these days.

People are flying planes into buildings.

Wars go on for ten years.

Oil spills threaten to throw the planet's ecology off balance.

Cattle, birds, and fish drop dead without any explainable reason.

Seemingly endless torrents of earthquakes and hurricanes unleash their elemental fury upon the land.

Lady Gaga.

The list goes on.

One might ask, "When will someone stop the madness?"

One might ask, "Who could _possibly _stop the madness?"

_You _might ask, "Can _you _stop the madness, unknown, yet handsome narrator?"

They say that each element has taken its toll upon the earth: The Japanese earthquake and tsunami disasters, Hurricane Katrina, and so many countless others.

Well, the answer to the question posed isn't so simple. Yes, I potentially can. If I can survive my own training first.

I have to balance the forces of nature before fire makes it mark on our planet.

My name's Jack Trudeau. They call me the Avatar.

And our world just got a little scarier.


	2. Chapter 0

Once, long, long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony.

The Water Tribes. The Earth Kingdom. The Fire Nation. The Air Nomads.

Each nation represented a powerful element that defined the planet.

Nowadays, though, the four elements have been replaced with Modern-ized words: Politics, Religion, Science, and Environment. And the four nations have been dispersed into new civilizations: The Americas, Asia, the Arctic, and everything in between.

The old ways have been long forgotten. Not ever again mentioned. For people who could bend their element, as it was called, have been labeled under euphemistic words such as, "myth" and "magic."

But there are those who remember the old ways.

There are those who live by them still.

There are many who will have to live by them once again.

For recently, scientists have discovered an object in space. An object that gives off the glow of a sun, and travels as fast as a shooting star.

This object will collide with the earth in seven months time.

Earth is about to get a big wake-up call.

For with this object brings memories of a distant past, one long forgotten by the people of Earth. But the people of Earth will have to remember these old ways if they wish to survive.

It starts with one teenage boy.

One who will usher the world into a new state of mind—one more open to their surroundings.

This boy holds the name of a race of protectors long dormant. But these protectors have abided their time in a world unwilling to believe in the power the elements hold—and the secrets.

This boy is the Avatar.

His story starts now.

Book 1: The Sleeping Giant

_**A/N: **_**So this story kind of hit me in the face the other day—watching reruns of Avatar: The Last Airbender, will do that to you, I suppose. **

**Anyway, I intend for this story to be a sweeping epic with apocalyptic proportions, if all goes according to plan. I don't know how frequently the posts will come, but I do hope all of you enjoy them when they do. Reviews are always welcome—they'll most likely decide the frequency of the posting. **

**Original characters from the show will be making appearances in the story, though this is mostly about the lore and legend of the Avatar rather than the characters themselves.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed these teasers! Chapter 0 was kind of a cheap trick, eh? Oh well. Thanks, everyone!**


	3. Chapter 1: The First Month

King Kong was attacking the US Navy, and the only person who could stop him was me.

I stared out across the waters from my perch upon the oil rig and watched as he smashed the USS _Nimitz_ into oblivion. He smashed through the control tower, and was momentarily lost in a blinding explosion.

But the damned ape emerged unscathed and jumped to a destroyer, starting another rampage. Navy ships were coming about, trying to stay out of the range of Kong's powerful leg muscles, while also trying to get in decisive strikes with their munition rounds, while still at the same time trying not to damage the other battered war vessels further.

"We're going to lose the fight," General Veers said to me. He said something else that was droned out in the ensuing explosion as the destroyer was lost. Kong jumped to the next ship, making his way slowly but surely to the rig. Three Navy ships were down, four more were dead in the water.

"How in the HELL is a super-ape taking down the goddammed US Navy?" General Veers screamed at no one in particular as he watched another ship sink.

Only five more ships were left in the flotilla, standing bravely between the seeming unbeatable Kong and the rig. Three destroyers, a corvette, and an aircraft carrier. That was it.

Veers turned to me, grabbed my bicep, and yanked me away from the edge. "You need to deal with this, right now. You were brought in as a special consultant, so you'd damned well do some special consulting," he growled.

I glanced back at the massacre. A hurricane, three tornadoes residing within it, was ripping its way across the Pacific towards us. Smoke plumed to the skies, obscuring the setting sun. I could feel the heat from the fires from here. Around us on the rig, men and women ran back and forth, doing God-knew-what final tasks before they met their demise. Panic was at an absolute peak.

Why had I let it go on this long? Why hadn't Veers forced my hand, so my fear wouldn't get the better of me?

People were dead. Dying. I had to stop the super-ape. If that was indeed what it was.

I stared at Veers' hand until he released me. "I'm going to need a boat," I told him.

Minutes later, we were skidding across the water on a military-issue Zodiac, heading for the air-craft carrier, which was next in line for demolition for Kong. We made it in record time, and getting up to the flight deck was a blur of men in uniform and frenzied, panic-laden words. Next thing I knew, I was on the flight deck. Alone.

I caught my balance and glared back behind me. Veers and the other sailors had practically pushed me out the door and locked it behind me.

I got my bearings. There were no fighter jets on the deck. They'd been taken out by Kong in the air.

So that left me with my own private battle arena two football fields long. And then King Kong hurtled onto the deck.

He was twenty feet in front of me. Our eyes met. He let out an ear shattering roar of challenge. I let out my own little growl of defiance.

Then we charged each other. He stood at least fifteen feet tall, and every single drop of his foot shook the deck beneath my feet. And then we were at each other. One hairy arm swooped down in a punch that would have flung me a few dozen miles away had I not jumped laterally onto his fist and ran up his arm. I jumped into the air and let loose a roundhouse that got him in the eye.

He jerked away from me with a howl of pain. I started to fall back to the deck, already going through my next plan of attack...

But then his hand lashed out faster than lightning and grabbed me. Then he threw me a few dozen miles away, as thought he would initially.

I hit the water properly, feet down, arms at my sides, making my body as streamlined as possible.

It still hurt. It felt like I hit concrete the instant my feet connected with the water. Then I was submerged.

The water was oh so frigid. My limbs went almost instantly numb, and the cold seeped to my bones. I looked up—or at least I think it was up—and saw the sun filtering down through the water. It grew ever more distant as I sunk further and further down.

_No! _My mind cried out in despair. _I can't let those people die! _I _don't want to die!_

Suddenly, as if a light-bulb switched on, I remembered my other abilities.

My fingers flexed out, and the ringing that had been going on in my head stilled. My eyes fluttered open almost lazily.

_The water will obey me. I control the water_.

And then I torpedoed up out of the water like a speeding bullet, bringing up at least ten columns of water with me. I was then standing atop one, glaring down at King Kong.

He looked like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, only the cookie was the command tower of the _Indiana._

He roared at me. I raised up my hands slowly, menacingly. I was at least ten stories above him, and he jumped that high. Two massive streams of water surged up and around over me and gushed down on Kong, slamming him back onto the aircraft carrier's deck. I kept the water surging until it drowned the psycho monkey.

I grinned.

Then my world shook. An incessant screaming emitted from the skies above me, shattering my ear drums and throwing me to my knees.

_This is a dream_, I suddenly realized. And then I woke up.

My eyes opened slowly, irritation rising in me as the coolest dream I've ever had being interrupted. Eminem was shouting something garbled from the radio. I'd never been able to get good reception from the darned thing. I glared over at the alarm clock, intending to smash it. But, that would leave without an alarm clock, so I refrained from killing it just yet.

I did press the snooze button in an angry fashion, though, and fell back asleep, the alarm clock's scratchy music promising to be back in exactly nine minutes.

I didn't dream again, and just as promised, the music awoke me again. This time Katy Perry was singing. I deliriously sang along with it as I clicked the radio off, then rubbed my eyes. I got out of bed a moment later, grabbing some clothes and headed for the shower.

I always have to take a shower in the morning. Not only does it wake me up, it gets me clean and fresh and ready for the rest of the day.

After getting out and eating a bowl of cereal, I grabbed the car keys. "We're going to be late," I called to my sister, Jessy.

"I'm coming," She said, walking out of her room at the end of the hall, throwing her back-pack on. "You need a jacket," I told her, putting on my best no-nonsense tone of voice.

It did not phase her.

She instead threw her weight to one hip and put on the attitude most thirteen-year old girls seemed to inherit as soon as they came of age. "Why?" she said. "It's not even cold out."

"Forty degrees isn't cold?" I asked her.

She snorted. "I take the dogs out _all _the time without a jacket on, Kyle."

"Well, guess what's about to change in this house."

"Stop trying to sound like mom or dad." She folded her arms.

I walked past her, grabbed her jacket out of the closet, and tossed it at her. She caught it begrudgingly.

"Fine. Don't wear the jacket. Just bring it." Why did everything have to be an argument with me and her? Who'd have that that little more than four years difference in age could make two people totally different, and unable to be agree on anything.

"Fine, but I'm not wearing it."

"Okay. Just go wait in the car."

She walked out of the apartment and went to do as told. I unlocked the car with the remote from where I stood, grabbed my wallet and the coffee I'd poured myself, and walked out, locking the door behind me. I made sure I had my jacket on, and zipped up pointedly. Maybe I took a little more time than was necessary to do these things. Maybe the longer wait and frigid cold would prompt her to put on the jacket. Me, petty? Never.

When I got in the minivan, she was shivering slightly. "You could have given me the other set of keys so I could warm the car up while I waited for you," she said.

I rolled my eyes. "You could have grabbed them." The engine roared to life as I turned the key. "And if you had your _jacket _on, you wouldn't be so cold."

"Whatever," she said. "Whatever" had become her new favorite word over the past few weeks.

I put the minivan into reverse and pulled out of our apartment complex's parking lot.

"When does mom's flight get back?" she asked.

"When I talked to her last night, she said tomorrow night. There was some delay in LA with the weather."

My mom's been a flight attendant for Southwest Airline for the past ten years. She loves her job, but hates that she's away from us so often. I miss her when she's at work, but I've dealt with it for a while now, and I always know she'll be back in a few days.

I drove my sister to the middle school five miles up the road. After dropping her off, I made a left at the next intersection and arrived at the community college, where I take some courses.

I'd thankfully been able to skip a grade in high school, and I graduated from high school when I was sixteen. Now while I'm enjoying college life, I'm not drowning myself in it. I only take four classes. Introduction into Archeology, a creative writing course, marine biology, and astronomy. For now, it's only the four classes, three days a week.

The rest of my days are usually taken up by job hunting. But that is extremely hard to do in a town with little more than two thousand people.

Adams, Tennessee is probably the smallest town in the USA. Or at least, that's what it feels like. The nightlife is dead. Literally no one goes out after dark.

It's a huge difference from Orlando, Florida, the place I lived up til about a year ago. My mom wanted us to move up here. Said it'd be easier for her to get on her planes from Nashville than Orlando International.

Oh, how I fought the decision to move up here. I kicked, screamed, rebelled. But I had to inevitably give in. I was the man of the house since my father died. Had to take care of the family, do what was better.

Sure, there was reasoning behind the move to. Things were cheaper up here, life was simpler. That may or may not be true, but I don't have to like it. But what can I do? Life sucks, then you die. Pessimism at its finest.

But I try to look on the bright side. At least I won't have to deal with the tourist crowed from Orlando up here.

I'll let you know when I've got some other examples.

Anyway. What's done is done. I try not to think about it too much, because I have a bad habit of getting re-pissed about old situations. Forgive, is my motto, but don't forget. I'm planning on finding out if that's a therapeutic outlook on life, but hey, everyone's got a thing and that's mine.

As I pulled into the community college, a small excitement rose in me at seeing some of the new friends I'd made here. I was mildly surprised to find out that not everyone in Tennessee is a total redneck hillbilly, and some of them can be kind of cool.

Orville University serves as the community college for all of Robertson County, and one or two neighboring counties.

On-campus there is a Subway that's the unofficial hang-out for every cool kid there. The definition of "cool" here is hugely different than that in Orlando.

Cool in Orlando meant being on the football team, dating the hottest girl/guy, being the scourge of the teachers, possibly rich, and just being generally hot.

Here, it meant being on the football team, owning the coolest truck, having the loudest muffler, and who can get the dirtiest when a group of friends go mudding. It's funny how different people and ways of life can be only two states over.

I guess I was classified as "cool" in Orlando. I wasn't on the football team, didn't date a hot girl—didn't date at all, really, but that was more personal and less that I couldn't get one—didn't give teachers a hard time, and I wasn't rich. I guess I'm good looking—brown, almost black hair, dark eyes, tall, well built, nice tan. But I like to think it was my easy-going nature and quick wit that got the "cool" kids to talk to me.

Not that I gave a damn, really. See, I put "cool" in quotes because I find the status quo bogus, and never follow it. If I find someone an interesting person and fun to talk to, I don't care about their social class or status, I'll talk to them. I think its because people see my indifference to it all that they're drawn to me, like the people I hang out with now.

They noticed my differences, liked the fact that I didn't try to be like everyone else, and cordially invited me to sit down with them at their hang-out table before, in-between, and after classes at Subway.

So I got out of the Ford minivan and walked into the Subway, instantly spotting my little group of friends. The four of them waved at me as I walked in. I just smiled back, feeling slightly awkward as all the other patrons took note of my friend's ecstatic waving and looked to see who was the receptor of the unusually enthusiastic greeting.

"Hey, guys," I said to them as I walked up, shouldering off my backpack and sitting in the open seat. "What's up?"

Just as a good meal should have selections from the four basic food groups, my posse has selections from the four basic social classes: the jock, the gossip/airhead, the nice-girl, and the nerd.

Otherwise known as, in the order of that as stated above, Allan Brown, Lisa Jones, Courtney Greco, and Xiovanni Davidson. I rounded the group out as the newcomer and/or dead-pan guy.

Allan was pretty much your stereotypical jock. Letterman jacket, buzz coat, big, buff, two-hundred fifty pound frame.

Lisa, your above average pretty girl. Blond hair, blue eyes, bright smile. Skinny. Kind of dopey. Stuck up.

Courtney had straight brown hair with green eyes, just as nice a smile as Lisa. Cute personality.

Xiovanni didn't look like a nerd at all. He dressed more gangster than one might think, baggy jeans, spiky black hair and all. He actually had the highest GPA out of all of us, but he didn't brag about it, or even talk about. He'd been offered scholarships to colleges like Yale, Princeton, and Harvard, but he'd turned them all down. Said they were too fancy for him. He's actually a really cool guy.

They all had country accents to varying degrees. The accent used to annoy me, but I got used to it.

It was that, or blow my brains out.

Lisa was hanging off Allan as usual. She flashed a dazzling smile at me. "Hey, Kyle, not much. Actually, we were just talking about Stacy Rubel."

I glanced over at Allan. "Your hot neighbor?" That was the title he'd bestowed upon her on several occasions. He talked about her a lot. It irritated Lisa to no end, but they weren't officially dating, so there was nothing she could do about it. So I was kind of surprised that Lisa had said they were talking about the bane of her existence without scowling in the slightest. In fact, she looked kind of.._smug. _ "What about her?" I asked.

Xio leaned over to me and said theatrically, "She's being haunted." His eyes widened and his eyebrows went up and down. I grinned at the mocking, then looked back at Allan. "What happened?"

Allan shook his head. "It was crazy, dude," he said. "It was like two o'clock in the morning, and all of a sudden, we heard this crazy screaming coming from next door."

"It came from the house over?" I said. "It actually woke you up?"

"It woke the whole friggin' neighborhood up, man! It sounded like someone was getting their arms torn off or somethin'."

My eyes widened. "So what happened?"

"Well we ran over there., my dad and me. You know, it kept going on and on. Half the neighborhood was there, all of us in pajamas. No one answered the door, so my dad got the spare key from the flower pot next to the walkway. When we got upstairs, Stacy and her parents were in her room. Stacy was still screaming like crazy in the corner, and her parents were trying to calm her down. But nothin' could, man. She wouldn't let anyone get near her, just kept screamin' over an' over, 'Don't let her git me! She'll kill me!'"

Allan visibly shuddered.

I could only imagine the fear and confusion everyone must have been feeling as the poor girl rocked in the corner, screaming at the top of her lungs. I waited a moment to be sure he wasn't going to break down or anything, then asked, "Did someone call an ambulance?"

"Hell yeah," Allan said, leaving back in his chair. It squeaked as his two-hundred and fifty pound frame shifted its weight. "The cops and firemen and ambulances all showed up, man. They had to shoot her with a _tazer _to take her down."

"Seriously?" Xio asked.

"Can they even do that?" Courtney added.

Allan shrugged, folding his arms, his Letterman jacket bulging. "Ain't got a clue, but they did it. She was attacking the cops when they tried to hold her down. The ambulance guys couldn't get her down on their own. I even tried to help, but she got me to. Bit my leg."

"She bit your leg?" Lisa cried, drawing some stares.

Allan nodded, reached down, and pulled up his pant leg. We all leaned over to see the wound. Teeth indentations formed an oval just above his left ankle, the whole area swollen and bruised.

"Ouch," I said as I straightened in my chair.

Allan winced. "Oh yeah. Didn't break the skin, though."

Courtney spoke up. "Was she like on drugs or something?"

Allan shrugged. "I don't know."

"She was talking about someone," I said, rewinding what Allan had told me. Little stories like this interest me, and I like to delve into them as much as I can.

It took everyone a moment to catch up. "Huh?" Allan said.

"Your neighbor. Stacy. She said 'don't let her get me. She'll kill me.'"

Allan nodded. "It was a little more screamo than that, but yeah."

I shrugged. "So then who was she talking about?"

Xio snickered and whistled the beginning of _The X-Files _theme song. Lisa glanced at him. "This isn't the _Twilight Zone, _Xio, this is real! And creepy!" She looked over at Allan and rubbed his bicep softly. "My poor baby."

Xio rolled his eyes and looked at me imploringly. "What kind of world do we live in nowadays that people don't know the difference between _The X-Files _theme song, and the _Twilight Zone _theme song?"

I shook my head solemnly. "One I don't want to live in, that's for sure." I was actually more an _X-Files _fan than _Zone, _but I wasn't about to bring that up. Xio would debate with me for hours on the matter.

I glanced at Allan. "The whole thing is very _Exorcist_-esque for sure."

"Yeah, I don't know man, it was insane."

"Who're they?" Courtney interrupted, pointing her finger at the door.

I turned around, and Edward Cullen walked into Subway.


	4. Chapter 2

Okay, so it wasn't _really _Edward Cullen, but it may as well have been. The way the dude was _dressed_ was so _Twilight _that only thing missing was the sparkles. Plus he was pale. Very pale.

What also made it worthy of the _Twilight _reference was that four other people walked in with him. All but one of them were male. The girl was kind of...off? Her nose was slightly upturned and her hair in disarray, looked as if she just rolled out of bed. Her eyeshadow looked as if a two-year old had applied it. She was wearing dirty, tattered carpenter's pants, with a ripped, equally dirty plaid man's shirt.

"Oh, God," Lisa laughed, her eyes turning from the good-looking guys to the girl. "Someone call the fashion police, we've got a code red _emergency!" _

Of course, Lisa said the lame, unoriginal insult loud enough that the whole restaurant heard it, and broke out into snickers.

I rolled my eyes. I was born with ability to see two sides of any argument, and further, to know how that comment might have affected the other girl. Sympathy instantly rose within me. No one liked to be made fun of.

The newcomers—the guys, anyway—were all dressed like punk rockers. Leather jackets, white shirts underneath, and leather pants. Their hairdos varied. Edward Cullen had Robert Pattinson's hair for sure. The guy to his right had long red hair. The weird thing was that it was straight. I'd hardly ever seen a guy with red hair wear it any other way than an unruly, unkempt mess. The guy to Edward's left was bald, and had sunglasses on. He had a jagged scar running from over his right eyebrow down to the left side of his face, under his chin. The last dude wore his hair like I did mine: short, swept to the side, lightly moused.

"Lisa, come on," I said softly, looking away from newcomers.

Allan was chortling his head off. The joke really wasn't that funny, but with what happened last night, he'd probably needed the tension-reliever.

The joke, though, ended abruptly when the newcomers honed in on our table like sharks to blood. I looked back when I heard Allan whisper, "Whoa."

The way they moved was definitely disturbing. Their unblinking eyes never left us as they maneuvered around tables and people to reach our table, and their heads did not bob as they walked. They were fast, too.

They were crowded around us in the next instant. "You say something?" Scarface growled to Lisa. Allan put his arm around her as she flinched. "Hey, man, chill," he said.

Scarface sneered, then moved to the side to let the girl through.

Her eyes were so cold, so pale, so unflinching, that a chill ran up and down my spine. And she wasn't even looking at me.

All eyes were on Lisa. She stuttered. "H-Hey, l-look, I'm sorry. I-I was just kid..." She trailed off as the new girl leaned forward, right over the table, snaking between Xio and Courtney.

Now that she was closer, I got a better look at her, and saw that she wasn't that bad looking. She had a nice shape, pretty face, in fact, save for those dead eyes. It was almost as if...she'd _tried _to make herself look ugly.

"Save your lies for someone who'll buy them, whore," Betsy-Boo bit off.

Lisa's apologetic look abruptly changed to one of anger. "Well maybe if you didn't get dressed in the _dark _I wouldn't have said anything."

Oh that Lisa. Should have just let it go.

Betsy-Boo smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.

Xio, to Betsy's left, was right across from me. His eyes asked me a question, and I gave a little shake of my head, indicating I also had no idea what the eff was going on either.

Allan, who was to my immediate right, tapped me. I glanced at him, and he gestured with his head to one of the dudes. Scarface was staring right at me.

I, being the big macho man I am, stared right back.

Now, I'd never been in a fight before, and I didn't think it would escalate to that, but I thought it would be better to diffuse the situation before something got out of hand.

"Look," I said to Scarface, "she didn't mean to—"

"Oh, yes she did," Betsy said, turning those eyes on me. _Now _I flinched.

"Okay," I said, meeting her eye. "She said sorry. Please, can we just forget about this and move on?"

Her lips curved up into the smile again. I glanced at her companions. All their eyes were on me, now. Peripherally, I saw Betsy turn back to Lisa. And as one, the rest of them followed.

What, the _hell?_

Betsy-Boo did that little smile, and cocked her head to the right. "Truce," she said in a little singsong voice. Then she backed off the table, eyes on us. As one, she and her band of merry men turned, and walked to the door. "I've lost my appetite, boys. Skank has that effect on me." She glanced back and winked at Lisa in a wholly bitchy manner.

Lisa gritted her teeth. "Who was that?" she growled.

"I think I'll change my answer from the Cullens to the Adams Family," I said, watching the retreating figures as they walked out the door.

"Did you see the way they walked?" Courtney whispered.

The whole restaurant was whispering, as if they feared regular voices might attract the newcomers again.

Nods all around our table.

"I thought they were going to start something," Xio said shakily. "I've never been in a fight before."

"Me neither," I shared. I may have never been in a fight, but I sure _knew _how. In addition to watching _Fight Club, _I've taken a few classes of Ju Jitsu, Krav Maga, and karate.

"Nothing to it, boys," Allan said.

I turned to him. "Oh please enlighten us, sensei."

"There's nothing to it. Just remember this. It doesn't matter how big they are or how much stronger they are than you." He stick up his index finger. "You get one good blow in, _one good blow_, and they're down."

"Guys!" Courtney said frantically. "We are _so _beyond late!"

The whole restaurant heard, and as an aggregated unit, grabbed our things in a frenzy and flew out the door.

Archeology is my first class, and it starts at ten-thirty.

My archeology teacher, George Tatem, is definitely the best teacher I've ever had. Not only are his lectures involving and fun, he himself is funny and likable. He brings us cookies, and has an espresso maker in the front of classroom for us to get coffee at any time before and after class.

Today, he was wearing a sweatshirt, loose jeans, brown loafers, and an unhappy expression. The latter was directed in my direction as I shuffled into his classroom and took my usual seat beside a pretty blond girl named Brittany. I gave her a quick smile as I sat.

She made a low _tsk_ing sound and whispered, "Your on his list now, Kyle."

"Uh-oh," I whispered back, not really wanting to start a conversation. I was already late. I didn't need to add talking during class to the list of "Reasons to fail Kyle."

Nah, he actually really likes me. We've had some interesting conversations about various topics.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Cauldron," he said, folding his arms and quirking his eyebrow. "We were just talking about Stonehenge. So glad you could take time out of your busy life to join us."

"Oh, you know me, Mr. Tatem," I returned. "I'll always have time for the little people."

He snorted, lips twitching, but he turned back to the board before I could see if the lip twitches would turn into a full-blown smile.

"The whole idea of archeology is like an onion," Tatem said loudly, diffusing the scattered hushed conversations that had broken out during the small interruption I'd created. He turned around and came around to lean on his desk, rolling up his sleeves and folding his bronzed arms over his chest.

"There are layers and layers. And each layer is older than the other. The purpose of this is to learn about societies of the past and the development of the human race through the years."

We hear this at the beginning of every class. Someone asked him why he repeats himself every time. He told that person, "Girly, if every time you came into this class and I showed you old pictures of mud painted on walls, rocks sculpted into a barely recognizable representations of a human being, and holes in the ground that hold a small fragment of an ancient human bone, well, you'd be bored to tears and drop this class. I want to remind you why you're here and why you're spending your money on this class. It's a lot more than just figuring out an image in a Stone Age-era painting, it's about preserving and discovering history. I don't want my students to forget that."

He's pretty adamant about this sort of stuff.

And it _is _really interesting. I used to hate history when I took it in high school and grade school. It was so boring to me. The thing about archeology, though, is that it's all hands on. You actually get to touch, hold, _feel _the history.

You might ask, if I hated history so much in the past, why take archeology? That's all _about _history, right? Well, I saw a representation on how the Aztecs built their ancient cities in Brazil, and I was fascinated. So when I saw this class in the school directory, I jumped at the chance.

"Today," he said, "We'll be talking about Notre-Dame. And before any of you ask, no, there is _not _a hunchback living in its highest tower..."

Forty minutes later, class was out. It was almost eleven thirty. I was walking down the sidewalk, simultaneously putting my books away and dodging foot traffic.

I finally gave up trying to put the books away standing up and left the sidewalk to sit on a bench off the to the side of it.

"I need a bigger backpack," I muttered to myself. I'd had the same bag since I was in third grade, and the thing had kind of become a security blanket to me, I guess. A small ice-cold dagger sliced through my heart as I remembered my dad used to always call it a book-bag.  
>I shook off the memory. I was so <em>not <em>going down that road right now.

It was about then that someone fell out of the sky.

_**A/N:**_** Ahh, the dreaded Gary Stu. I'm endeavoring to make the character likable, a good guy, but also extremely conflicted with the powers he's been given, and the family he has at home. This is a normal teenage guy, in a normal world—that's about to get turned upside down. If I ever stray from this idea—please let me know. I want the storytelling experience to be believable and enjoyable for all. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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